


Little Blessing

by Maaedaae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish guilt, Dragon Age Quest: In Hushed Whispers, Elves, F/M, Fade4lyfe, Fluff, Gen, Iambic Teasing, POV Solas, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Fadesploration, Short One Shot, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maaedaae/pseuds/Maaedaae
Summary: She kissed him in a dream and walked beside him in the Fade.She saw the beauty beyond the fear. She was not what he had expected.A small story about how a god begins to fall in love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Given how “Fade4Lyfe” Solas is, I was always kinda surprised by the fact that he and a fade-fan Lavellan never have a post-mission talk about boldly going where no modern-day elf has gone before. Seriously, not even a "well that was pretty cool." 
> 
> Consider the events taking place as pre ‘All New, Faded for Her’ and post ‘In Hushed Whispers.’
> 
> //Side-note  
> Right now, I’m just sticking to little one-offs when inspiration strikes. I’m toying with the idea of doing a more complete series/extended narrative. But the game came out like what — three years ago? Does the internet even need me to add to the SolasXLavellan fluff pile? It’s already a pretty big pile, guys.

Solas didn’t need to turn around to know that the Inquisitor had entered the rotunda. It wasn’t the sound that gave her away — it was the sensation. Arms prickled in electric gooseflesh, a quiet, tinny buzz hummed in his ears, and the absence within him ached. The feeling wasn’t wholly unpleasant, and quickly dispersed — but it commenced each encounter without fail. He often found himself wondering if she experienced something similar. She undoubtedly did. The anchor called to him, and he to it.A small, selfish part of him rejoiced at the prospect. It made him feel less alone.

 

“Lethallan.” he greeted her as he dropped a brush into a pail of brackish water. With a slight turn of his head, he glanced towards the main level entrance. 

 

“Hmm?” she questioned. 

 

That was odd. Her tone, normally bright and sharp, sounded subdued, dreamy. It was enough to make him turn around. 

 

Her focus was fastened upon the small bundle of documents held in her hands. She moved as if in a trance, pale brows creased in concentration. One booted heel hovered over a freshly mixed bucket of gesso. 

 

Instinctively, he called the pail to him. Narrowly avoiding her descending foot, the ensorcelled thing skittered and scraped across the floor in animated urgency. Yelping in surprise, she jumped backwards and looked up. Blinking owlishly, she took in her surroundings—features flashing confusion. The expression was quickly replaced by a familiar, flustered smile. Years slid from her face when she smiled like that.

 

“Oh, hello.” she said, head tilted to one side and an artificial sun shining in her voice. It was as though _he_ had been the one to walk into _her_ study. It was the sort of voice, he mused, that all but dared him to acknowledge the bucket. He was tempted.

 

“Hello.” he greeted her in return, amusement creased into the corners of his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her expectantly. 

 

She broke first. 

 

“ _Ara seranna-ma_ ,” she conceded with a slight bow of her head. She shrugged, shuffling the papers in her hands. “I was reading. My feet seem to have taken me to places I didn’t really plan on going.”

 

“A wandering mind can guide the feet to trouble.” he chided—his tone grave; his words wry. “Thankfully, such misfortune is often avoided through the simple application of a comfortable chair.” He gestured to his own for further emphasis. His lips itched from the effort to restrain the grin threatening to part them. 

 

Pale brows lifted as she widened her eyes in mocking, feigned surprise.She had very lovely eyes, he thought — warm and bright, like copper dipped in honey. 

 

“Behold!A lonely torch shines ever bright,” she marveled, draping each word in faux reverence. “a warm beacon in ignorant darkness.”She wrinkled her nose at him and leaned into a deep bow. “Wisdom, I know thee; thy name is Solas.” 

 

She mocked him. She teased him. In meter, no less.

 

He could hear the far-off rumble of chorused protests; generations of Keepers stirring and shifting in their respective graves. It took him a moment to realize that he no longer had mastery over the concealed smile. He was grinning like an idiot — like a wolf.

 

“I take it you finished the copy of the Saga of Tyrdda you borrowed?” he said, more in observation than in question.

 

“Last night.” she confirmed, lifting her head to wink at him as she did. She did not rise from the dramatic dip of her bow. “It was very enjoyable. Thank you.”

 

“Perhaps gratitude guided your footsteps—” he offered. He paused to smirk before adding: “undeterred by pails of paint or duty?”

 

She rolled her eyes and rose to her full height once again. 

 

“If I move while I read, people assume I am headed to or preparing for a matter of importance. They generally leave me alone.” she explained.“Besides, this is important.”

 

Turning her head, Inquisitor Lavellan stared back towards the threshold. It was though she believed the admission enough to summon all manner of dignitaries, advisors, emissaries, and other individuals of equally distracting natures.

 

It was only a moment, but he found his gaze traveling to the profile of her mouth. He speculated on how it would taste. He wondered if her lips would feel as soft as they had been in their shared dream. The grin fell. Panic and unease percolated in in his chest, settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach. 

 

“What is it in regards to? — If I may ask, of course.” He quickly pressed, searching for a much-need handhold of distraction. Within mere seconds, he cooly detached himself from the quiet, little pinprick of desire. By the time she had turned around, the impulse had been smothered. 

 

“Adamant. The nightmare. The Fade. The rift I opened. All of it.” she answered simply. “Dagna just provided the Council with an analysis of the _—ahem_ ’” she cleared her throat, wincing at the memory. “—samples’ collected after we returned.” 

 

He recalled overhearing her brief complaint to Master Tethras several evenings ago. Apparently, the arcanist has been quite _thorough_ in her research of the young she-elf. 

 

“And?” he urged, a single arched brow accompanying his inquiry. Once, he would have dismissed the findings of any of the children of stone in regards to the fade. However, he had been surprised by the aptitude and thoughtfulness of the Inquisition’s latest specialist. Her questions were poignant, and her research — while perhaps lacking vital components — generally yielded incredibly astute theories. He often went out of his way to avoid crossing Dagna’s path. 

 

“From what I have read thus far?” she sighed, her disappointment obvious. “Fascinating speculation, and far less fact than I would like.” 

 

She drifted towards his desk, resting the folder down amidst his own scattered tomes and tightly-rolled scrolls. One hand absently moved upwards, fingertips lightly tracing the Dahl’amythal tattooed upon her face. She was troubled by something, he observed.He watched her fingertips trail the sepia bough on the bridge of her nose before ascending to the painful intricacies of the branches upon her forehead. It was a quirk that only seemed to manifest during points of stressful contemplation. She traced the tree often of late.

 

“I am not sleeping well” the First of Clan Lavellan confessed, her voice little more than a subdued whisper. She would not look at him, her expression strained, pained. It was a burden she clearly did not feel comfortable sharing. “Food tastes like ash and dirt. My focus drifts. Colors and conversations seem…” she grew quiet — whether from a loss of words or introspection, he could not tell. Moments passed in silence before she spoke again. “Less. Like shadows or memories.”

 

“Truly? Why did you not come to me sooner?” He demanded, eyes narrowed, voice sharp and authoritative in contrast to her own. “How long have you been having these experiences?”

 

“Long enough to give me pause for concern.” she sighed, fingers rising once more to roam the lines that limned her face. She closed her eyes, recognizing the edge in tone. 

 

When he next spoke, his voice was gentle, soothing. Now was not the time for heated words — even if it was only frustration borne of concern. 

 

“In the fade,” He began, drawing closer to her, his palms turned upwards. His movements were soft, delicate and subtle, almost as though he was approaching a frightened animal. “The nightmare spoke to each of us. I know Cole heard each and every dark word; saw each private battle. It is in his nature—and part of his fear. Sera heard only the terror of her own heart, as did the Warden and Champion.”

 

If she saw him approach, she made no response. Though her eyes were now open, she stared intently at the toes of her riding boots. Curling pearlescent fringe haloed her face, obscuring her eyes like an organic barrier. She did not answer him.

 

It was easy to forget how mortal she was. Over the past few months, he had grown accustomed to her boundless energy, unquenchable curiosity and admirable, if not compulsive need stitch together a world that had burst all but a few of its seams. He could see why others — especially those outside the Inquisition’s inner circle — lost sight of her in the symbol she had come to embody. 

 

But she wasn’t a symbol — and even legends had their limits. It was a hard-learned truth that he knew quite well. Glancing at the mural behind her,he was filled with a sudden and intense loathing for it. The looming shadow of her own mythos only seemed to emphasize the weariness, fragility, and loneliness he could now see in she-elf. With sudden and violent need, he yearned to give her the truth she deserved. _Ir abelas, da’len._ he wanted to tell her. _You do not deserve this fate. The blame is mine._ Her anger would be beyond reproach. He could accept, even welcome her rage. Anything would be preferable to this lost, exhausted sadness. But he could not tell her — would not tell her. The dance continued on. 

 

He reached out to her. Save for the necessity of battle, it was not something he had done since they walked the halls of Haven’s shadow. With one hand, he drew her seeking, frustrated fingers from her face and held them lightly in his own. The other lifted her chin upwards until her uncanny eyes met his.

 

“Lethallan, I know you heard something. I watched you tense each time the demon spoke—whether it’s words were directed at you or not. Constant contact with a spirit of that strength and malicious intent can leave a lingering mark on a mage. It should not be ignored.”

 

He saw the fear, the embarrassment and uncertainty behind her stare, and his eyes softened.

 

“I am here to share your burdens — do not shoulder them alone. You will always have my aid in matters such as these, if I am able to give it. Did you hear it speak?” he asked her again, taking care to keep his tone soft and his touch gentle.

 

“Yes? No?” She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know.” 

 

She stirred restlessly beneath him, rocking back slightly on booted heels.He let her slip from his grip, his hands falling to his sides.

 

She met his gaze, though her eyes were unfocused, worlds away. The thoughts took her back to that ephemeral, empty place. Then, like a dam bursting, her words were sudden, quick, and without pause. “I heard things. But only snatches. At times it felt like I was overhearing a private conversation behind a closed door—so close, yet just beyond me…Other times—your voices, its voice—speaking—disjointed, loud, resounding words and phrases. It was like…” She paused, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip, brows knitted in irritation as she searched for words that might do the experience justice. “Like echoes in in a cathedral.” She lifted her palms beseechingly. “It was all those those things—at the same time. But also..not.”

 

She pulled back from him abruptly—the intensity of mere inches stretching into the emptiness of several paces, Raking both hands through her hair, she barked out a small, angry laugh. “Fenedhis, I sound like Cole!”, she snapped, a booted foot stomping out a rhythm of frustration. “I don’t know what to tell you. I heard everything and nothing. My mind is still reeling from the implications. I understand so little—no one seems to be able to tell me anything. And yet—That place…”

 

She spun away from him, and she stared intently at the beginning stages of his latest fresco. Several seconds of ephemeral silence drifted through the air, mingling with the motes of dust and dried paint. 

 

“It isas though I learned to walk, only to have my feet taken from me in the same day.” shefinally said, her voice heavy with a sorrow so familiar that it robbed the air from his lungs. “There was a wrongness there, certainly. But there was also something very real—very right about it too.”

 

She paused, wringing her hands together in frustration, as though they might yield the words she searched for.

 

“I have always found my homes in people—not places.” she explained. “That place felt like I was—I was…”

 

“Gazing upon the face of your mother for the first time?” he offered quietly.

 

“Yes! Exactly!” she hissed, eyes fever-bright with frustration and yearning. Recoiling from her own zeal, she blinked back tears. “And that makes me _dangerous_. Vulnerable. A liability. How can I—what sort of—if I were—“

 

The ever-smoldering spark of rage within him flared at the sight ofher guilt and shame.

 

“There is nothing wrong with you!” he snapped “Perhaps save for this belief that you must flagellate your own curiosity with decades of Dalish prejudices and fear.”

 

He expected her to lash out— or at least bristle at the words. It would not have been the first argument they’d had about the Dalish. 

 

Instead, she just seemed wilt like a flower in fire. Her shoulders sagged, and a hand rose to trace that damnable mark again.

 

“Even if that was true,” she said, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by distant hum of life in the courtyard. “If I opened that door—I—I don’t have your level control. Or experience.”

 

“You could, with time.” he sighed, anger still mulishly clinging to him — though perhaps not as hot as it had been moments before. He sighed. “If the memory distresses and distracts so greatly, I am certain Cole would hel—“ he began. 

 

The Inquisitor went rigid. The scowl on her face all but promised immolation. 

 

“Don’t you dare.” she snapped, eyes flashing in a bright, hot rage. “Don’t you dare suggest that. I would never—”

 

She must have been a nightmare to teach when she was younger, a distant, detached part of his mind observed. How many bushes burned before she had been able to separate her emotions from the innate magicks within her? He looked at her again. Countless, probably.  

 

“No,” he quietly conceded, parrying her anger with sincerity. “I did not believe you would.”

 

She eyed him critically for a moment, before nodding her head. He had been pardoned; forgiven.

 

Oh, this girl was a puzzle—a surprise. Here was the defensive rage he had expected — just directed in defense of the right target. The shackles of dogma cracked a little more. One day, she would be free of them, he thought. And how beautiful she would be.

 

“ _Dirth ma vhenan._ ” There was gorgeous certainty in her voice as she pressed her marked hand to her chest. “I am afraid, yes. I feel a sense of loss that I do not understand. But I carry more than that. This is a good hurt, and one I do not wish to forget.” (1)

 

Standing below the half-finished depiction of the Adamant rift, she stretched out her left hand above them and gazed upon it with a mixture of wonder, sorrow and pride. “ _Da’enansal_.” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I never thought it was, but…”  (2)

 

The light of the anchor pulsed softly, serenely.

 

“We walked. _Ar viren dun’uthenera, ghi’l_ — _Solas_." she finally breathed, his name whispered like a prayer. The sound was electric; it raced up his spine. (3)

 

Her fingers curled gently over the mark, forming a fist. Unable to contain a small laugh of delight, she hugged her arms to her chest and pirouetted in a small, ecstatic circle. “Beautiful. Wild. Raw. It was so—so— _wonderful_!” 

 

He felt his chest tighten and something long thought dead burst into bloom within him. Such a simple thing. Such a sweet, innocent, thoughtless act of unbridled joy. The others had been left understandably shaken by the ordeal. Fear and pity peppered the questions of those left behind when they fell between worlds. But she mourned its passing. She danced at its memory. Where had she come from—this rare and marvelous spirit?By the sun and stars, she _danced_.

 

“Yes!” His laughter rang out, matching her own until reverberating, mingling, entwining—their voices filled the chamber. “It was, wasn’t it?” 

 

Like a started Halla, she froze at the sound, fine features a mask of tentative caution. Had he surprised her, scared her? Whatever she had expected, it had not been a joy that ran deep and parallel to her own. Did she think him too dignified for joy? Too sad? Whatever she thought, she smiled at him. And then she laughed again — a rich, lovely sound that made his toes curl in pleasure. Had she ever laughed like that before? While it still held the same exultation as its predecessor, there was something deeper and far more beautiful in it. It sounded like an acclamation. It felt like absolution. 

 

Still laughing, she rocketed forwards, crashing into him with sudden, unexpected speed. Staggering from the impact, he braced himself against the wall with one hand. His free arm hovered above her slight frame, uncertain of its role in the unfolding events. He felt her own arms encircle his waist as she buried her face in his chest.

 

“Thank you, _ma ghi’lan_.” she said speaking her muffled gratitude into his tunic. She had bestowed the moniker during one of the handfuls of scouting expeditions they had walked together; as they led Inquisition’s exodus from the hell that had once been Haven.

 

“For what, Lethallan?” he asked, pleasant shock laced into the subtext of each syllable.

 

“For being you.” she murmured. “For being there with me. For laughing.”

 

Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her, returning the embrace.Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he kissed her softly, chastely. He allowed himself a small moment of comfort — breathing in the smell of her, listening to the sound of her heart. He savored seconds, burning them into the backs of his eyelids and into the palms of his hands.

 

He inhaled sharply through his nose, filling his lungs past the point of reason. Closing his eyes, he focused on the steady, endless exhalation — willing the pace of his heart to match the measured, mental beat that rang out in his mind. Control. Control. Control.

 

After several blissful seconds, she broke from his embrace, her golden eyes bright, and her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment and memory’s excitement. He was, after all, the one who had asked for time and patience. 

 

“I acted in impulse. It was wrong of me.” she began— voice earnest,her eyes downcast “I should not have done that. _Ir abe_ —“

 

For a moment, his grip tightened, and he drew her back to him, their hips brushing, backs arching outwards—juxtaposing limbs of the same tree. She fit _so_ well.

 

“ _Tel'abelas_.” he assured her. 

 

Eyes bright, she swallowed, nodded and burned a darker shade of red.The intensity of the assurance and hungry edge in his voice surprised them both. He blinked, feeling a sudden warmth spreading from the base of his neck to the tops of his cheeks. He cringed internally. Was he blushing? How long had it been since he had blushed? Eons. It felt like eons. He didn’t care for it.

 

She shook her head in disbelief and laughed again, her joy cutting through the tension with surgical precision. “We. Walked. In. The. Fade!” his Inquisitor blurted again. With that, she dissolvedinto another fit of undignified, sing-song giggles.

 

“And then we walked right out.” he added, his smile growing as her laughter increased. 

 

In one deft movement, he lifted her into the air, and they were spinning, euphoric, weightless.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nudging the foyer door closed with his foot, Varric shook his head. Rolling his eyes, he quickened his pace until he once again met the gait of his departing friend. “Have I mentioned how fucking weird those two are?” he asked, a small, sardonic smile turning the corners of his mouth upwards. It couldn’t fully mask the bitter sting of a good man’s death.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, Varric” Hawke began, a familiar grin slowly spreading across her face as she craned her neck, glimpsing the odd pair as the door swung shut. “I think it’s rather cute—like a nug—without legs.” 

 

He laughed, and only felt a little guilty for the moment of mirth. It made him happy, so fuck it—he’d be happy. After that nightmare in Adamant, he had been worried for her. His friend—shit, _his best friend_ —had emerged from that blight-blasted demon gash looking haunted, hurt, and more than a little diminished. It was as if she had left a piece of herself back on that Maker-forsaken plane.

 

He wanted to tell her that, but instead he found himself pushing open the main door of the keep.

 

“I’m really glad you didn’t die, Chuckles” he managed lamely, offering her his hand.

 

“Me too, Varric.” She replied, her voice choked with what sounded like laughter—or possibly a sob. Ignoring the proffered hand, the Champion of Kirkwall dropped to her knees, drawing the shorter man into a tight embrace. 

**Author's Note:**

> //Translations of Frankensteinian elvhen:
> 
> 1: Da’enansal - “Little blessing/gift”  
> 2: Dirth ma vhenan - “I know my heart”  
> 3: Ar viren dun’uthenera - “I physically walked in the Land of Endless Dreams ~~(bitches!)~~ ”


End file.
